


Drabbles and One-Shots Round 2

by budgeridoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Doctors & Physicians, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Human AU, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budgeridoo/pseuds/budgeridoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebooting my one-shot compilations, since my other one starts with some really old stuff.</p><p>Tags will be updated as necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Feliciano texts him at midnight, “ _happy birthday!!!!!!_ ” followed by an impressive amount of cake and dog emoji and a couple sparkles. Ludwig sets down his phone and turns to him.

“You could just say that out loud, you know.”

“I can’t pronounce ‘cake emoji’,” Feliciano answers, tapping at his phone for a couple more seconds. “But happy birthday!” He drops it on the nightstand and slides down the bed until only the upper half of his face is visible above the covers. One hand snakes out from under the blankets and tugs at Ludwig to lie down, which he does. Feliciano cuddles up to him and whispers “You’re getting  _ooold_ ” in his ear, and Ludwig gives him a nudge.

The next day, he checks his messages at lunch break – “ _happy birthday_ ” from Lieve, and “ _happy bday ur gna love ur present_ ” from Gilbert, and a whale emoji from Alfred, which is probably the same thing, and one from Feliciano saying “ _hey meet me @ the park @ 6!!!_ ”, again followed by cake and dog emoji. 

After work, Ludwig heads for the park Feliciano means, a decent walking distance from their place. He passes a dog-walker and a couple families and spots Feliciano sitting on a low bench. Feliciano waves excitedly at him to come over, scooting sideways to make room for him to sit.

“Okay, I’m gonna give you your present now so close your eyes, all right?” Feliciano chirps. Ludwig does, a little apprehensively; if the ‘present’ involves Feliciano’s usual level of displays of affection he doesn’t see why it has to be in public. He hears Feliciano thank someone a little ways away, and then return, and something else with him, and a second before Feliciano says “Open them!” he’s got a feeling that he knows what this is and did Feli  _really_  –

Ludwig opens his eyes, and Feliciano  _did_ , and he’s probably going to cry in public, at Feliciano and the mostly-black dog, about up to Feliciano’s knees, whose leash he’s holding. He presses his hands carefully over his mouth and says “Oh,” a little weakly.

Feliciano leans down and nudges the dog forward, “Say hi to Ludwig, Margot!” Ludwig reaches out a hand for her to smell, and then moves it to ruffling behind her ears, and then can’t entirely contain himself and leans forward to bury his face in her shoulder, hearing the dog’s huff in his ear. He feels – his chest is tight, and his throat, and his face heating up really quite a lot, and he tries to say “hi” or “good dog” or something but it just doesn’t make it out of his throat so he just makes a sound like “Mn.”

“Are you  _okay_?”

Ludwig answers “Yes,” but it comes out strangled, and he gives Feliciano a weak glare for the plain (and sappy) amusement on the other’s face. He takes a little while longer to stroke Margot’s head and back, and then looks up to Feliciano and begins to ask, “Does she –”

“She’s a bit over three and she’s got all her shots and things and doesn’t, you know, pee inside or anything, and Gilbert got her a bowl and bed and stuff,” Feliciano says, grinning widely. “And, uh, you know how I said I joined a book club a couple weeks ago and that was where I was going? That was me going to the shelter and I haven’t joined one.”

“I wondered why you didn’t seem to be reading anything new,” Ludwig replies, and continues petting Margot. “And why it met so often.” He takes a couple deep breaths and continues. “I – thank you. Thank you, she’s – this is –” He’s  _not_  going to cry in public. “…Thank you.”

Feliciano smiles and offers a hand to pull him back up to standing, though it’s still mostly Ludwig who does the work on that front, and hands him the leash. “Happy birthday. Cake emoji.”


	2. Chapter 2

Social functions are usually fun, in Veneziano’s opinion, as long as the food is good and there are enough people that he doesn’t have to talk to anyone he doesn’t like, but they’re always a little bit difficult, because if the wine is good he obviously should drink it but also there’s food and sometimes the food needs utensils and then Veneziano needs three hands, which he hasn’t got, so maybe he’s spent a bit too long getting friendly with the wine list at this one. But it’s a good list, and he really does think it needs some friends.

Of course, they’re difficult for Germany, but more in the sense that Germany is one of nature’s born corner-gravitators and – damn, Veneziano was supposed to be making sure he didn’t do that. So Germany’s in the corner with his own glass and Veneziano ducks around a knot of conversationalists and makes his way over to him.

Germany nods down at Veneziano, who smiles at him and presses into his side.

“People-watching?”

“Mm.” Germany’s eyes flick up to the dance floor and the milling attendants, and then back to Veneziano. “Austria almost took a bad fall, I think you missed it.”

“I think I did,” Veneziano says, and leans his head against Germany’s chest. It’s a nice chest; it’s warm, and solid, and looks good in suits. Germany settles an arm around his waist and a hand on his hip.

“We should go socialize,” Veneziano says after a couple seconds. “Or something. Not stand in a corner and stare at people.”

“We should –” Germany pauses, the kind of pause Veneziano knows means he’s trying to work up to something, so he waits. “Well. Do you. Do you want to dance once this one’s over.” Veneziano glances up at him, at his averted, slightly hooded eyes and the stain of pink on his cheeks, and nods. They wait out the rest of that dance in silence, and Germany finishes off his glass.

Once the next dance starts, and they set down their glasses and move onto the floor, it’s lucky that the dance is a slow one. The wine has gone a little towards making Germany less stiff, but not much, and so Veneziano takes a little time leading from the follow before they both lapse into the gentle, circular motions. It’s slow enough, even, that Veneziano can afford the extra step forwards to fit against Germany’s body and tuck his head under his chin; and even if he couldn’t have he’d have done it anyway to feel the stiffness gradually drain away from his partner.

After – he’s not quite sure how long, the music winds down, and Germany stops a couple beats before Veneziano so he staggers just a little and then steadies himself with his hands on Germany’s arms. They stand still, and Germany leans down just enough to briefly kiss Veneziano’s forehead, and that’s something, enough of a something that Veneziano hops up to return the kiss on his jaw.

Veneziano notices that Germany’s starting to go kind of red, though, maybe all this is catching up with him, so he gently leads them both away from the dancing and back towards the food. And then remembers again, right, he hasn’t got three hands, but the cake looks  _so_  good, so he says, “Hey, Germany, if I hold the wine will you hold the cake and we can, you know, trade,” and Germany picks one of the pieces with the really pretty little frosted irises on it.

England, hovering by the canapés, gives them both a look, and Veneziano is about to say something when Germany says half in an undertone “You were dancing with France earlier. Do you have a leg to stand on.”


	3. Chapter 3

They’ve got to the point that Ludwig is fine brushing his teeth and shaving while Feliciano’s in the shower, which gives Ludwig a bit of a shock when he actually thinks about it, but he does need to brush his teeth so he doesn’t mind as much as he could. Usually, Feliciano tries to carry a conversation while they’re both in the room, hampered only by the fact that sometimes he gets water in his mouth or that Ludwig’s mouth is full of toothpaste.

So the shower is already on when Ludwig gets back from his early morning run, Feliciano well on his way to fogging up the bathroom, and when he comes in he hears, over the sound of the water, Feliciano singing. Singing very loudly, in fact, he should have picked that up earlier, and Ludwig is hit with the momentary instinct to apologize and leave.

Instead, Feliciano says – sings, really, he doesn’t break the tune, and it’s kind of showing off – “Out in five minutes!”; the turn of his head towards Ludwig visible in a blur through the glass. He doesn’t get any quieter, either, which Ludwig almost admires a little.

What he’s more – well – admiring – is just. Feliciano’s voice. Which is a good voice, even if it’s just a bit too high for the song, but that means when he tries for the low notes Feliciano’s voice goes hoarse in a way that’s  _very_  – not bad. The song itself isn’t particularly amazing, it’s something Ludwig vaguely remembers from maybe two decades ago, but the sheer enthusiasm Feliciano’s putting into it more than makes up for that. Ludwig can see him waving his arms around in the shower, and even if he hadn’t seen there’s a wet thump and a brief “oops” that lets him know something got knocked over.

Ludwig realizes he hasn’t really done anything hygienic in the last minute and stops looking at the shower to return to shaving himself.

Once he’s done with that, he should probably go start Feliciano’s coffee, but – he could also wait in the bathroom and listen until Feliciano’s done showering, and that just seems like a nicer option especially since Feliciano’s apparently awake enough to not spend ten minutes trying to remember the function of a mug. Ludwig sits on the closed toilet seat, then, and crosses his ankles and waits for Feliciano to finish. 

It takes a while (more than five minutes, though Feliciano’s five minutes is never that anyway), and Feliciano moves to another song – less bouncy, considerably more sappy, Ludwig gets the feeling he knows what he’s doing. And doesn’t really mind.

He can’t remember ever hearing Feliciano sing by himself, only in groups where it was too difficult to pick out his voice from everyone else’s, and it’s – comfortable. Warm and gentle and though to Roderich’s despair Ludwig never picked up much of an ear for music he can tell Feliciano is better than good, knows what he’s doing.

So he ends up not really minding the waiting, or that Feliciano insists on giving him a good morning kiss before putting on anything besides a towel; and when he gets into the shower himself he notices he’s humming too.


	4. Chapter 4

Feliciano would like to think that he’s better than Ludwig at taking care of sick people, mostly because he doesn’t spend so much time sanitizing everything Ludwig touches. Granted, right now that would mean he’d have to sanitize his own lap given that Ludwig’s head is in it and he’s pretty sure Ludwig would never go  _quite_  that far. But still.

Ludwig makes a sort of wheezy noise, rolling over a little — thankfully not enough to fall off the couch. “Too hot.”

Giving Ludwig’s hair a quick stroke, Feliciano adjusts the cold pack resting on Ludwig’s forehead. Ludwig struggles against the blanket a little more before giving up. “’S too  _hot_.”

It takes a couple seconds for Feliciano to figure out that Ludwig’s not about to take the blanket off on his own, and he’d laugh a little but that would probably be mean. So instead he tugs the blanket off of Ludwig and lets it fall to the floor. Ludwig makes another noise and rolls again so that his face is mashed into Feliciano’s stomach, the cold pack stuck between them.

“Can you breathe like that?”

Ludwig says something that could be “Mm-hm,” and then whines. Feliciano strokes his hair again and watches one bleary blue eye crack open and slide shut and thinks, well, maybe he won’t be standing up for a while but it’s better than dealing with Ludwig insisting he’s  _perfectly fine thankyouverymuch_ , which is the first stage of Ludwig having anything worse than a run-of-the-mill cold. Second stage is — well, to be honest, Feliciano thinks second stage is kind of pathetic but he’s not much better himself and it’s easier to deal with because he doesn’t have to convince Ludwig he should lie down.

His left leg might go numb pretty soon but, well. He can deal with that.


	5. Chapter 5

1\. Feliciano is laughing against Ludwig’s neck, breath warm and wine-scented, cheeks flushed and hair catching the light.  Ludwig smiles down at him, adjusting his hands on Feliciano’s waist, and hums the next bar of the song. He’s more than a little tipsy himself, but Ludwig thinks he’d have agreed to dance sober. Feliciano no longer tries to execute fancy footwork as he had when they began and instead moves slowly with his hands on Ludwig’s upper arms. The kitchen is warm with sunlight, warm with music, warm with Feliciano’s laughter, and when Ludwig leans down so that Feliciano is smiling against his lips, into his mouth, Ludwig is warm with all of it too.

2\. The television flickers in front of them, and Ludwig, eyes blurry, can only make out around one-third of what’s going on. He knows there’s some alien monster threatening the town, and it looks a little like a shag carpet, but beyond that, he’s lost. Feliciano stopped paying attention long ago, and rests tucked up against Ludwig on the couch, eyes hooded. On the floor, the dogs snuffle in their sleep; on the screen, a woman who insists on standing very still and screaming is devoured by the shag carpet. Ludwig rests his head against the side of Feliciano’s neck, half-aware that he’s drifting off, and registers a slender hand settling in his hair as he does. (In the morning, Ludwig decides, he’ll ask whether they finally defeated the carpet.)

3\. If Feliciano had woken up at the same time as Ludwig this wouldn’t have been a problem, but he never does, and this time he was lying right on top of Ludwig so Ludwig couldn’t get out of bed either (well, he could have but then he’d have been on the receiving end of the I-just-got-woken-up-too-early-it’s-your-fault face). Instead, both of them have to hurry through the rooms, grumbling about where does the hotel hide the soap and not even enough time for good coffee. Feliciano’s meeting is earlier than Ludwig’s and his hair is a lost cause at this point, barely enough time to make it look presentable, but on his way out the door Ludwig stops him to straighten his tie and Feliciano grins and kisses him have a good day.

4\. Neither of them are sure at this point which picture they were looking for to begin with, or whether it matters (or when half of these were taken). A series of blurry, bright-colored ones makes Ludwig crack up and Feliciano try to recreate the faces, and then the long streak from the post-EU-meeting party, and they never do find the picture they were looking for but they do find the ones Ludwig took of Feliciano making faces at the coffee machine.

5\. Ludwig grumbles and re-parts his hair for the latest of one too many attempts – it’s not participating today and next to him Feliciano’s is already perfect and he’s starting on his eyeshadow. Feliciano reaches across Ludwig to get to the liner and Ludwig hands it to him. He asks, who else do you think will be there, how long do you want to stay, and Feliciano answers him and finally takes the comb out of his hand, tells him he looks fine like that.

6\. Ludwig comes home later than Feliciano, tired and knotted, and though Feliciano still hums over the pot of sauce cooking on the stove his shoulders slump downwards and his eyes miss their spark. Wordlessly, Ludwig steps behind Feliciano, wraps his arms around his midsection, rests their cheeks together. Feliciano places a hand over Ludwig’s, leans back into him, and sighs. They stand together as the smell of the pasta sauce fills the kitchen, not speaking, just sharing the time, sharing each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on: http://bigenderfeliciano.tumblr.com/post/113646700218/wearealsoboats-disgustingly-cute-domestic-scenes


	6. Chapter 6

Spring cleaning in the Vargas-Beilschmidt household is an  _event_.

Fortunately, they’ve already written out a plan, or at least a list of things that need to happen — clean out the closets and clean up the kitchen, get rid of some of the sheer amount of  _stuff_  that accumulates around Nations, especially ones like Feli, air out  _everything_ , and so on.

First, someone has to drop off the dogs with Gisela, and then Monika has to make her promise not to spoil them, which is kind of pointless because Feli does that anyway at home. Still, she supposed, there’s a principle to be upheld here, like there is with making Feli wear his boxers to bed. And, no matter how insincere those promises may be, Gisela does promise, and that’s the important thing.

Once they get back, the first thing is to try and manhandle the mattress out of the bedroom and downstairs so they can put it outside, which is about three-quarters Monika’s job because she’s the only one who can lift it. Even then, it’s still difficult and Feli follows behind her and makes sure the mattress doesn’t fall over and take out a bookshelf. Once it’s been set on an old blanket in the backyard, along with all the couch cushions (Feli had to take those off the couches, it was only fair) then it’s time to put the sheets in the laundry and start cleaning out the kitchen.

The worst part of that is definitely cleaning the contact paper, because it means everything in whatever cabinet they clean has to be taken out first. Feli gripes about it a little, because (apparently) this was messing up how  _he’d_  organized the kitchen.

“You organized it?” Monika asks him.

“Well, there was a place where everything’s supposed to go, and it made sense to  _me_ ,” he answers, sticking out his tongue a little as he tries to remove a very large pot from one of the cupboards.

“It didn’t follow –” Monika cuts off as she lifts an armful of pans to the counter. “– _any_  imaginable system of logic.”

Feli just shrugs, and asks for the sponge.

It’s Monika’s job to clean the contact paper on the high-up shelves, since Feli can’t reach, and he’s the one who replaces everything after she’s done. She’s accepted that he does have  _some_  sort of system when it comes to the kitchen, and after so many years living together, she’s actually noticed there  _is_ some sort of logic to it (even if it’s the Feli-logic that makes him put cutting boards with the cookbooks – “they’re shaped the same, Monika!”).

Fortunately, the fridge doesn’t need much in the way of cleaning – there’s not much of a problem with old food, since the both of them can usually keep the leftovers moving at a decent pace. The problem is seeing all the food sitting on the counter when Feli takes it out so he can clean off the shelves, and that  _bothers_  Monika a lot, enough that she leaves to clean the bathrooms instead. Feli waves at her as she leaves the kitchen, though.

He surprises her in the upstairs bathroom while she’s sorting through the cabinet beneath the sink, plopping down behind her and reaching for a mostly-used bottle of hair product.

“There’s barely any left in there,” Monika reminds him, and a short series of sounds of the sort Alfred would find hilarious later Feli answers “And now there’s none left so we can throw this bottle out!”

Monika is a little afraid of what she’ll see if she turns around, which turns out to be Feli’s attempt at a mohawk. It wouldn’t have worked even if there had been enough gel that half of Feli’s hair wasn’t just flopping forwards regardless, but she laughs a little before continuing to go through the cabinet. After a little while of leaning against Monika’s back, Feli gets up and starts gathering all the bottles out of the shower.

“Hey, after we’re done with this room can we eat lunch?” Feli pipes up.

Monika nods, “And it’ll go faster if you help me with the sink.”

Scrubbing the sink out takes only a couple of minutes, and cleaning the shower not a horribly long time, and soon they’re sitting outside on the couch cushions eating quick sandwiches.

“Don’t take too long,” Monika chides Feli when she’s mostly done with hers and Feli’s only halfway through his, “we still have to clean the living room.”

“Mm. And the closet.” Feli leans against her.

“To hang up  _your_  dresses,” Monika reminds him.

“And yours!”

“Mine aren’t on the floor, Feli.”

“We’ll have to get the dog hair out of the rugs. And your sweaters.”

“And yours.”

Feli shrugs. “Not as much as yours.”

“And we’ll have to go through everything to find what to donate.”

“Are you gonna donate your old romance novels?”

Monika staunchly does not go red. “I don’t have any.”

“Well are you gonna donate that big box in the back of the closet that’s not full of anything at all even though it’s really heavy and smells like books?”

Monika swats him on the shoulder – not hard, she doesn’t want to knock him over or anything – and says “ _No_ ,” and Feli giggles so much he almost chokes on his sandwich.


	7. Chapter 7

Germany wakes up five minutes before his alarm goes off.

He’s done this for years, and turns it off preemptively. Beside him, Italy sighs and rolls toward him a little more, still curled around Germany’s arm. Italy’s obviously still asleep, but even so he clings harder at Germany’s entirely half-hearted attempt to dislodge him, an attempt Germany doesn’t repeat. Instead, he sits up against the headboard and rests his free hand in Italy’s hair.

Eventually, Italy begins to stretch out, muttering softly to himself. He settles in even closer next to Germany, legs stretched out so that Germany can feel it all along his body. “Morning,” Italy mumbles.

“Morning.” Germany rubs the pad of his thumb behind Italy’s ear.

“’Mgonnagobacksleepnow,” and Germany says “No, you are  _not_ ” and manages, despite Italy’s protests, to pull him into something resembling a sitting position.

“Yeah I am.” Italy slumps forward against Germany’s chest and lets rip with a loud, entirely fake snore.

“You have to get up at some point.”

“No I don’t,” Italy answers. “And I’m asleep and I can’t hear you.”

Germany stares at him for a couple seconds and finally thinks  _oh, the hell with it_  before saying “Well, if you’re asleep you won’t mind if I do  _this_ ” and digging his fingers into Italy’s sides.

Italy shrieks, suddenly very awake, and tries to wriggle out of Germany’s grip. “Not  _fair_!” He’s laughing through his yelps and Germany figures that, well, he’s already embarrassed himself so it won’t matter if he does a little more, and bowls Italy over. 

“Okay okay okay you win I’m awake!” Italy lifts his hands up to beside his head, shaking them out of the sleeves of the button-down he slept in. He’s pink in the face and still giggling faintly, and Germany can feel his own face heat up. He deals with this by hauling both of them back up to sit, and Italy leans into his chest again.

“Since you won and I’m tired would you be really really really nice and make me coffee?” Italy sends Germany the look he’s classified as #6 (wide eyes, slight eyelash batting, trying not to laugh, minor heart constriction).

Germany gives him a quick one-armed squeeze. “Fine.” He slides out of bed and makes it halfway to the door before remembering, “And don’t go back to sleep while I do!”

It’s too late, Italy’s already burrowed back into the covers and looks as though he’s in a coma, but Germany can wake him up later.


	8. Chapter 8

Ludwig frowns at the paper. There’s…technically, there’s nothing  _technically_ wrong with the drawing, it just looks off somehow. The Feliciano on the paper stares up at him nothing like how the Feliciano sitting in the chair across from him looks at  _anything_.

Feliciano scoots out of his chair and over to Ludwig’s side to look at the paper, forestalling Ludwig’s half-hearted attempt to hide it. “So how’s it coming?”

“…Not well.”

“Well, it’s a start!” Feliciano leans on Ludwig’s shoulder, face so close next to his that their cheeks touch. “Hey, do you really think I’m  _that_  handsome?”

“Wh –” There’s no way out of this that isn’t going to be embarrassing, so Ludwig heads for the most truthful one and mumbles a “yes”. Feliciano giggles.

“So could you hand it to me so I could get a closer look?”

“It’s not – it’s not done yet.”

“Oh?” Feliciano cocks his head. “Well my whole face is there and you didn’t say you wanted to color it and really this paper wouldn’t be a good one for coloring unless it was with paint –”

“No, that’s not – that’s –” Ludwig gestures rather feebly. “It’s missing your…you.” Too late, he realizes the hole this conversation has suddenly dug him into, and too late, he is quiet.

A wide smile begins to spread across Feliciano’s face, soft and reaching to his eyes and crinkling their corners, and that’s what’s missing. “My me?”

Ludwig fumbles for the right words for a moment and comes out with “Your – your…liveliness?” Feliciano, still smiling, leans forward so that his hands slide down Ludwig’s shoulders and his arms wrap around him, and Ludwig loses his tongue for a second. Regaining it, he continues, “It’s missing your personality and I don’t know if I can draw that there’s…a  _lot_  of it. And it’s…it’s really, I don’t know if I can draw your personality – your heart into this and do it any kind of justice, there’s just – there’s so much of it and I don’t, I don’t think there’s ever going to stop being more, or there’s ever going to be a point where I could put it down on paper because that would stop it from – from being  _alive_ in the picture, and. That’s, um. That’s what’s missing. I think.” His face is too hot, and he’s said too much, probably.

Feliciano, still draped over Ludwig’s shoulders, laughs into his neck (it almost sounds a bit shy). “What I do is, if I’m drawing someone and worried about that, I think about one part of them I really like and then that comes through, you know, in their face and the colors I use if I do and – it takes a ton of practice, though, so.”

“…You expect me to choose?”

Feliciano laughs again and calls him a flatterer.


	9. Chapter 9

Feliciano is dragged awake, very cruelly in his opinion, by Ludwig rolling away from him and beginning to stand up. He rolls, too, and manages to catch what he blearily assumes is Ludwig’s wrist.

“Why’re you getting up  _now_ ,” he slurs out. “’S too early ‘n you always do this.”

Ludwig gently pulls Feliciano’s hand off his wrist, but at least stays seated. “Because taking runs in the morning is nice.” He sounds disgustingly awake, he almost always does, and Feliciano swears he’ll never know how Ludwig manages that.

“Ugh,” he moans, sinking back down as much as he can into the bed. “Swear to God I dunno why I married you.”

There’s a pause for much longer than is normal, even to Feliciano, whose processing feels very delayed and full of cotton balls right now.

“…You know you didn’t, right?” Ludwig is giving him a look, a little affectionate but mostly confused.

“…Huh?”

“We’re not –” Ludwig clears his throat. “We’re not married.”

Feliciano reluctantly struggles somewhere to halfway upright. “Could’ve sworn we were. Are you sure?”

“Well, I mean,” Ludwig turns to face him ( _yes_  he’s back on the bed just a couple more steps to getting him to lie down for another half-hour), “we kind of are, in a way. But not really.” He holds up both hands, as if to show the complete lack of rings, though Feliciano doesn’t understand why he’d be sleeping with them on if he had any.

“Huh. I thought saying all that sappy stuff to you in churches tipped you off.”

“That’s how you normally  _are_ ,” Ludwig huffs, though there’s no anger in it. “If we’re basing marriage status off of sappiness and general – general domesticity, we’ve been married for  _decades_.”

Feliciano supposes that does make sense, although he really needs some coffee and about an hour more of sleep to really give it thought. And then he thinks  _you know, there’s honestly not a lot of thought I need to put into this right now_ , and says “So do you want to be married?”

Ludwig looks a little taken aback, just for a second. “As in,  _married_.”

“Yeah. You know, with cake and stuff and rings and saying really mushy things in front of a bunch of our friends –”

“– How is that different –”

Feliciano wriggles closer to him, close enough he can wrap an arm around Ludwig’s middle, even though it does end up mashing his face into Ludwig’s hip. “Gives us a bunch more ways to be sappy. And we can say, you know, we’re husbands and we’re married and it’s official in front of witnesses and God if we do something in a church which  _I’d_  like to and, and, I know we already kind of are but, you know. It’s the, the principle. So, uh…”

Ludwig’s hand has found its way into his hair, gently stroking. “…I’d. Yes. That sounds – yes.”

Feliciano hums, letting the soft warm feeling inside of him radiate outwards, and tugs on Ludwig’s shirt. Ludwig gets the hint and lies back down, settling his arms around Feliciano, and Feliciano mumbles “Since you’re my fiancé now we should maybe mark the occasion by sleeping in?”

Ludwig squeezes him a little and answers “Or we could mark it by going for a refreshing early run,” and Feliciano groans “Don’t make me divorce you already!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was requested to do a doctor!ludwig au where feli comes in with increasingly petty/ridiculous problems as an excuse to see him.

The first time was for pneumonia. Mr. F. C. Vargas came in looking utterly miserable, and left with a prescription for azithromycin that he could get filled on the way out and very stern instructions from Ludwig to not return to work at his brother’s restaurant for a week and a half and get as much rest as possible.

* * *

The second time was for muscle pain. Mr. F. C. Vargas had apparently played a game of soccer far too vigorously. Ludwig prescribed Naproxin and wrote up a quick regimen of stretches, which his patient groaned at but took. He even managed, with a tiny bit of guidance, to do a couple of the easier ones in the examination room, though Ludwig had to hold him up.

* * *

The third time was for a migraine. Mr. F. C. “Call me Feliciano, we know each other now” Vargas asked if he could also have a hug, because aside from the Fioricet he would also have to lie down in a dark room and not look at anything and that was _boring_.

Hugs were not prescribed. Mr. — Mr. Feliciano Vargas looked quite disappointed as he left. Ludwig wondered if, since physical contact and interaction with other humans was important, maybe in the future a quick hug would count as secondary treatment. The people at the pharmacy probably wouldn’t enjoy it.

* * *

The fourth time was for a cold. Feliciano Vargas came in and should have left after five minutes, since it was nothing that couldn’t be taken care of with some soup and cold medicine, which he should have had at home. Feliciano Vargas did _not_ leave after five minutes, instead asking Ludwig about the dogs in the picture he’d seen in Ludwig’s office as he walked to the examination room. For reasons Ludwig did not entirely understand, he told Feliciano Vargas about his dogs; for reasons Ludwig did not understand at all, Feliciano Vargas was giving him a look he didn’t think he’d ever been on the receiving end of before; for reasons Ludwig didn’t want to think about, something very buried within his chest fluttered the tiniest bit.

Feliciano left with Ludwig’s aunt Erzsébet’s recipe for halászlé (“It’s very, very spicy, so be careful, but it _will_ clear out your sinuses. …And remember to eat lots of citrus and take a decongestant.”)

* * *

The fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth times—well, the halászlé had worked, because the things Feliciano brought up—my ankle hurts, my chest hurts, I think I had a palpitation—were…frankly, trivial. Ludwig asked him several times whether he was sure coming to the doctor for this was a wise idea, insurance being what it was, and Feliciano had waved his hands and said that coming to see Dr. Ludwig (“Dr. _Beilschmidt_ ”, Ludwig would always say, with less and less conviction) was always a good idea.

Ludwig approved of caution.

He did not approve of how, after Ludwig would tell Feliciano he was perfectly healthy, Feliciano would say in what Ludwig _hoped_ was a joking manner (did he?) that he was suffering from _inopia amplexūm_. Hug scarcity. Which, Feliciano claimed, was contagious. And Ludwig might have caught it.

Ludwig did _not_ have _inopia amplexūm_ , because that wasn’t a _thing_ , Feliciano.

Ludwig also did not have _inopia amplexūm_ , because Feliciano hugged him. 

* * *

The ninth time, Feliciano came into the examination room and said he had something _serious_. Light-headedness. Inability to concentrate. Heart palpitations. Occasional hot flashes.

Ludwig swallowed. “That—may be contagious. I have experienced one or two of those symptoms recently; I am not sure what it is but it may be for the best if you take a day of bed rest—”

Feliciano cut him off. “Well, I _do_ know what it is. I came so I could tell you, in case you had it also.” He slid off the exam table, grabbing at the back of his paper gown so that it wouldn’t come undone. Around two seconds before Feliciano laid a hand on Ludwig’s chest just under his shoulder, Ludwig realized what was coming. (Heart palpitation, hot flash, face reddening—)

Feliciano smiled, breath almost like he was about to laugh. “Lovesickness?”

Feliciano Vargas left with a prescription for Afghani food for two at seven, and possibly a movie afterwards depending on the success of the first round of treatment.


End file.
